


Untitled Aragorn/Boromir

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Uploading My Backlog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:43:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>found in notebook. Written circa March 2003. Posted to LJ 2003-08-26</p>
    </blockquote>





	Untitled Aragorn/Boromir

**Author's Note:**

> found in notebook. Written circa March 2003. Posted to LJ 2003-08-26

 

Boromir knelt besides the bed, hands clasped behind his back in preparation for the bonds he knew would come, ankles crosses for the rough linen ropes. Aragorn liked him bound and gagged, unable to struggle, unable to say nay. Not that he ever would. Not that he ever could.

The familiar chill began to move across his neck, raising the hairs there, making Boromir resist the urge to shiver. Aragorn didn't like that. Boromir was only a hole for Aragorn to use and discard; he wasn't supposed to be human, with real emotions. Boromir existed solely for Aragorn's pleasure. His own needs were of no import.

The first touch he always felt was against the small of his back, pushing him into the mattress. He couldn't hear Aragorn's footsteps anymore, nor could he feel Aragorn's breath against his shoulders as Aragorn came inside him.

Boromir bit against the mattress as Aragorn roughly tied his arms and legs. Aragorn liked him trussed up like an animal to be slaughtered and so Boromir held himself perfectly still as the ropes were tied tighter every night, as the bruises grew in the darkness, as Aragorn's dry fingers violated him, stretching. It didn't matter, any of it. As long as he pleased Aragorn, nothing else mattered.

Then he was lying across the side of the bed and Aragorn entered him like fire on a river. It hurt, it hurt so much. Boromir's legs tried to open, to leave enough of a gap between the thighs so that it could begin to approach comfort, but his ankles were tied too tight as Aragorn filled him with liquid pain.

And Boromir screamed.

"Silence, slave," but Boromir could obey the harsh tone. Finally, tiring of the noise, Aragorn ripped off a piece of a blanket and stuffed it in Boromir's mouth. Boromir chocked around it, gagged against the coarseness, and worked on trying to breathe.

"Groan my name, slave. Let me hear your pain."

Boromir thrust back against Aragorn in response. Aragorn like that, liked for Boromir to show enthusiasm, to show that he liked being tied up and fucked and was ever to grateful for the privilege of pleasuring his master.

But it wasn't enough for Aragorn this night. "Say it, slave!"

Boromir bit his lip, but the pounding was too much for him. "Master," he moaned around the cloth. It came out mumbled, but it satisfied Aragorn enough for him to slow his thrusts to an almost-bearable speed. "Master!"

 

  
   
 


End file.
